


Beginning to Look Up

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Branding, Gen, Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 06:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: After a life-changing incident, Dean schedules an appointment with Dr. Sam Wesson, the best plastic surgeon in town.





	Beginning to Look Up

**Author's Note:**

> For my Break the Zone Bingo Card, the Scars square, my @badthingshappenbingo Card, the Branding square, my @samwinchesterbingo Card, the Sam Wesson square, and my @deanandsambingo Card, the Medical AU square.

Dean’s leg bounced up and down as he waited, the movement giving away his nerves and skittishness.  Ever since that night, he hadn’t been able to sit still.

Dean shook his head to clear it.  He started the mental checklist his therapist encouraged, listing the things he was thankful for.

His parents.  His car.  His job at the auto shop.  His Uncle Bobby for always being there.  His fairly quick recovery. 

“Winchester?” the nurse questioned, making Dean scramble (a little too quickly) to his feet.  He approached the window, feeling like all eyes were on him, even though they weren’t.  The nurse smiled at him as he came forward.  “Dr. Wesson will see you now.”

Dean nodded and followed her down the small hallway, trying to ignore the feeling that the walls were closing in on him.  She led him to a small, clean room, patting the examination table and nodding approvingly when he hopped up to sit on it.  She took his vitals, jotting down notes on her clipboard, before heading for the door.

“Dr. Wesson will be right in,” she said as she began closing the door behind her.  Before she could, Dean stopped her.

“Can you, uh…”  Dean swallowed.  “Can you leave it open, please?”

The nurse looked at him and gave him a small smile, nodding.  “Of course, Mr. Winchester.”  She pulled the door to, but left it open about a foot, so that Dean could clearly see the hallway.  He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans.  He busied his mind by reading the various clinical posters on the walls, mindlessly learning about common colds, stiff joints, and other various generic ailments.

In a few minutes, there was a knock on the door and Dean’s eyes focused on a tall man with long brown hair in a dark grey suit.  “Mr. Winchester?” he asked, smiling as he tucked his hair behind his ear.

Dean nodded.  “That’s me.  Call me Dean.”  He held his hand out and the doctor stepped forward to shake it.

“I’m Dr. Wesson, but please call me Sam.”  Dean nodded.  Sam turned and pushed the door closed, but to Dean’s surprise he left it cracked as it had been when he’d entered.  Sam flipped through the clipboard the nurse had given him, nodding to himself.

“Dean, it’s good to see you healthy,” Sam said, rolling a stool out from the corner of the room and sitting down.  From this position, Dean was seated higher than Sam and it made him feel a little calmer.  Was Sam doing that on purpose?

“I agree,” Dean said as he rubbed a hand along the back of his head, his telltale nervous tick.  “It’s, ah… Been quite a time.”

Dean noticed that Sam wasn’t looking at his face anymore, but instead his eyes had landed on Dean’s neck.  While it was something that Dean had gotten used to, he still fidgeted under Sam’s gaze.  His hand brushed his neck on its way back to his lap, breaking Sam’s stare.

“I’m sure it has,” Sam replied, his voice a bit softer.  “Do you mind?”  Sam gestured vaguely at Dean’s neck and Dean nodded, taking a deep breath to ready himself.

It was one thing for people to stare at it, but no one had touched it, not since the hospital on the morning after.

Sam stood, putting his clipboard on the stool he vacated.  He slowly stepped forward, his movements purposeful and clear.  Dean appreciated it.  Sam reached out to gently tilt Dean’s head to the side, giving him easier access to the expanse of Dean’s neck. 

Dean closed his eyes as Sam examined his neck with gentle fingers, immediately seeing a reflection of himself behind closed lids.  His neck, which had been a horrible angry red at one time, was now faded to a scarred purple.  The scar in question was something that he’d heard spat all his life, but the fact that it was now branded on his skin?

The word faggot emblazoned on his neck wasn’t something that Dean wanted as a permanent first impression.

Before Dean knew it, Sam was stepping back and gently guiding Dean’s head to its normal position.  Dean opened his eyes to see Sam sitting back down.

“You’re lucky,” Sam said with a smile.  “You obviously got quick and proper treatment for the injury and the skin surrounding it is healthy.  I should have no problems removing the scarring and piecing your skin back together, with little to no lasting damage.”

Dean sighed, his heart thudding in what could only be gratitude.  He’d heard that Dr. Sam Wesson was the best plastic surgeon in town, but he hadn’t let himself believe it until now.

“Really?” Dean asked, only slightly ashamed at how watery his voice sounded.

Sam nodded.  “It will be your decision whether I stretch the healthy skin on your neck or create a graft from another area of your body, like your thigh or buttocks.  We can schedule the surgery as soon as tomorrow, as I’m sure you’re ready for it and I have tomorrow open.”

Dean’s eyes widened and he nodded.  “Yes, I’m ready.  As for all the medical stuff, it’s your call, doc.  You’re the pro.”

Sam grinned, and the smile was contagious.  Dean hadn’t smiled like this since before, but sitting here with Sam made it feel like everything was going to be alright.

“Great.  Let me go grab a nurse and we can get everything detailed out.  I’ll be right back.”  Sam turned for the door, but before he left he looked back at Dean.

“And by the way,” Sam said, his eyes seeming to see straight into Dean’s soul, “while the word might be derogatory, there is nothing to be ashamed of.  Nothing at all.”

Dean’s smile turned more serious, the sincerity of Sam’s comment sinking deep.  “Thank you,” Dean said, watching as Sam left, the door still ajar.

Things were beginning to look up, Dean could feel it.


End file.
